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3. Men sometimes go down into tombs, with painful longings to behold once more the faces of their departed friends; and as they gaze upon them, lying there so peacefully with the semblance that they wore on earth, the sweet breath of heaven touches them, and the features crumble and fall togěther, and are but dust. So did his soul then descend for the last time into the great tomb of the past, with painful lõngings to behold once more the dear faces of those he had loved ; and the sweet breath of heaven touched them, and they would not stāy, but crumbled åwāy and perished as he gazed. They, too, were dust. And thus, far-sounding, he heard the great gate of the past shut bebind him as the divine poet did the gate of paradise, when the angel pointed him the way up the holy mountain ; and to him likewise was it forbidden to look back.

4. In the life of ěvery man, there are sudden transitions of feeling, which seem almost mirăculous. At once, as if some magician had touched the heavens and the earth, the dark clouds melt into the air, the wind falls, and serenity succeeds the storm. The causes which produce these sudden chānges may have been lòng at work within us, but the changes themselves are instantaneous, and apparently without sufficient cause. It was so with Flemming, and from that hour forth he resolved that he would no longer veer with every shifting wỉnd of circumstance; no longer be a child's plaything in the hands of fate, which we ourselves do make or mar. He resolved henceforward not to lean on others; but to walk self-confident and. self-possessed : no longer to waste his years in vain regrets, nor wait the fulfilment of boundless hopes and indiscreet desires ; but to live in the present wisely, ălike forgětful of the past, and careless of what the mysterious future might bring. And from that moment he was calm, and strong; he was reconciled with himself!

5. His thoughts turned to his distant home beyond the sea. An indescribable, sweet feeling rose within him. “ Thither will I turn my wandering footsteps," said he ; "and be a man among men, and no longer a dreamer among shadows. Henceforth be mine a life of action and reality! I will work in my own sphere nor wish it other than it is. This alone is health and happiness. This alone is life

Life that shall send
A challenge to its end,
And when it comes, say, Welcome, friend !

6. “Why have I not made these sage reflections, this wise resolve, sooner? Can such a simple result spring ünly from the long and intricate process of experience ? Alas! it is not till time, with reckless hand, has turn out half the leaves from the book of human life, to light the fires of passion with, from day to day, that man begins to see that the leaves which remain aro few in number, and to remember, faintly at first, and then mūro clearly, that upon the earlier pages of that book was written a story of happy innocence, which he would fain read over again. Then come listless irresolution, and the inevitable inaction of despair ; or else the firm resolve to record upon the leaves that still remain, a more noble history than the child's story, with which the book began.

LONGFELLOW. HENRY WADSWORTI LONGFELLOW was born in the city of Portland, Maine, on the 27th of February, 1807. He entered Bowdoin College at fourteen, and graduated in due course. He soon after commenced the study of law, in the oflice of his father, the Hon. Stephen Longfellow, but being appointed professor of modern languages at Bowdoin, in 1820, he sailed for Europe to prepare himself for the duties of his office, where he passed three years and a half. On his return, he entered upon the labors of instruction. Mr. Longfellow being elected professor of modern languages and literature in Ilarvard College, in 1835, resigned his place in Brunswick, and went a second time to Europe, to make himself better acquainted with the subjects of his studies in Denmark, Sweden, and Germany. On his return home, in 1836, he immediately entered upon his labors at Cambridge, where he has since resided. In 1854 he resigned his professorship at Harvard. His earliest poems were written for" The United States Gazette," printed in Boston, while he was an under-graduate, from which period he has been recognized as among the first writers of prose and verse of the nineteenth century. During his subsequent residence at Brunswick, he wrote several elegant and very ablc papers for the “North American Review," translated “Coplas de Manrique," and published “Outre Mer," a collection of agreeable tales and sketches, chiefly written during his first residence abroad. "Hyperion," a romance, appeared in 1839, and “Kavanagh,” another prose work, in 1848. The first collection of his poems was published in 1839, entitled “Voices of the Night.” His “Ballads and other Poems" followed in 1841; “The Spanish Student," a play, in 1813; “Poems on Slavery," in 1814; “The Belfry of Bruges, and other Poems," in 1845; “Evangeline, a Tale of Arcadie," in 1817; “ The Sea and Fireside,” in 18 19; “The Golden Legend," in 1851 ; “Iliawatha," in 1855; and “Tales of a Wayside Inn," in 1963. In 1845; he published "The Poets and Poetry of Europe," the most complete and satisfactory work of the kind that has ever appeared in any language. “The Skeleton in Armor ”is one of the longest and most unique of his original poems. "Hiawatha,” his longest poem, which is purely original and American, has been republished in England, and has met with a popularity, both in Europe and America, not surpassed by any poem of the present century. The high finish, gracefulness, and vivid beauty of his style, and the moral purity and earnest humanity portrayed in his verse, excite the sympathy and reach the heart of the public.





AUGHTER of Jove, relentless

power, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and torturing hour

The bad affright, afflict the best!
Bound in thy adamăntine chain,
The proud are taught to taste of pain;

And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.
2. When first thy sire to send on earth

Virtue, his darling child, designed, To thee he gave the heavenly birth,

And băde to form her infant mind. Stern, rugged nurse! thy rigid lore With patience many a year she bore :

What sorrow was, thou băd’st her know, And from her own she learned to melt at others' woe. 3. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly

Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy,

And leave us leisure to be good.
Light they disperse, and with them go
The summer friend, the flattering foe :

By vain Prosperity received, To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. 4. Wisdom in sable garb arrayed,

Immersed in rapturous thought profound,
And Měl'ancholy, silent maid,

With leaden eye that loves the ground,
Still on thy solemn steps attend :
Warm Charity, the general friend,

With Justice, to herself severe,
And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear.
5. Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head,

Dread goddess, lay thy chāstening hand!

Not in thy Gorgon' terrors clad,

Nor circled with the vengeful band
(As by the im'pious thou art seen),
With thundering voice, and threatening mien,

With screaming Hòrror's funeral cry,
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty.
6. Thy form benign,' O goddess, wear,

Thy milder influence impart;
Thy philosophic train be there

To soften, not to wound,' my heart.
The generous spark extinct revive;
Teach me to love, and to forgive ;

Exact, my own defects to scan ;
What others are, to feel ; and know myself a man.

GRAY. THOMAS GRAY was born in London in 1716. He was educated at Eton and Cambridge. When his college education was completed, Horace Walpole in duced him to accompany him in a tour through France and Italy; but a misun. derstanding taking place, Gray returned to England in 1741. His father being dead, he went to Cambridge to take his degree in civil law, though he was possessed of sufficient means to enable him to dispense with the labor of his pro. fession. He settled himself at Cambridge for the remainder of his days, only leaving home when he made tours to Wales, Scotland, and the lakes of Westmoreland, and when he passed three years in Londen for access to the library of the British Muscum. His life thenceforth was that of a scholar. His “Ode to Eton College," published in 1747, attracted little notice; but the “Elegy in a Country Church-yard," which appeared in 1749, became at once, as it will always continue to be, one of the most popular of all poems. Most of his odes were written in the course of three years following 1753; and the publication of the collection in 1757 fully established his reputation. His poems, flowing from an in. tense, though not fertile imagination, inspired by the most delicate poctic feeling, and elaborated into exquisite terseness of diction, are among the most splendid ornaments of English literature. His "Letters," published after his death, are admirable specimens of English style, full of quiet humor, astute, though fastidious criticism, and containing some of the most picturesque pieces of descriptive composition in the language. He became professor of modern history at Cambridge, in 1768. He died by a severe attack of the gout in 1771.

Gorgon, the Gorgons, in heathen Euryale, and Medusa. The head of mythology, were frightful beings, the latter was so frightful that every that had hissing serpents instead of one who looked at it was changed hair upon their heads; and they had into stone. wings, brazen claws, and enormous 2 Be nign', gracious; kind. teeth. Their names were Stheno, 3 Wound, (w8nd).



115. LIFE.

“, ;

AN,” says Sir Thomas Browne, “is a noble animal! splen

; and funerals with equal luster, and not forgetting ceremonies of bravery in the infamy of his nature!” Thus spake one who mocked while he wept at man's estate, and gracefully tempered the high scõffings of philosophy with the profound compassion of religion. As the sun's proudest moment is his latest, and as the forest puts on its brightest robe to die in, so does man summon ostentation to invest the hour of his weakness, and pride survives when power has departed ; and what, we may ask, does this instinctive contempt for the honors of the dead proclaim, except the utter vanity of the glories of the living ?—for mean indeed must be the reäl state of man, and false the vast assumptions of his life, when the poorest pāgeantry of a decent burial strikes upon the heart as a mockery of helplessness.

2. Certain it is that pomp chiefly waits upon the beginning and the end of life : what lies between, may either raise a sigh or wake a laugh, for it mostly partakes of the littleness of one and the sadness of the other. The monuments of man's blessedness and of man's wretchedness lie side by side : we can not look for the one without discovering the other. The echo of joy is the moan of despair, and the cry of anguish is stifled in rejoicing. To make a monarch, there must be slaves ; and that one may triumph, many must be weak.

3. To one limiting his belief within the bounds of his observation, and “reasoning" but from what he “knows," the condition of man presents mysteries which thought can not explain. The dignity and the destiny of man seem utterly at vāräänce. He turns from contem'plating a monument of genius to inquire for the genius which produced it, and finds that while the work has survived, the workman has perished for ages. The meanest work of man outlives the noblest work of God. The sculptures of Phidias endure, where the dust of the artist has vanished from the earth. Man can immortalize all things but himself.

4. But, for my own part, I can not help thinking that our high estimation of ourselves is the grand error in our account. Surely, it is argued, a creature so ingeniously (in jēn'yús lí) fash

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